


he laughs like god, and shines like a diamond

by orphan_account



Series: drinking cherry schnapps in the velvet night [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Radio One (RPF)
Genre: Birthday Parties, Flowerchild!Harry, Fluff, Holding Hands, M/M, Punk!Louis, bad use of hashtags, cute hipster things, near death of character, past BDSM, yup more homophobic slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:42:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wondered why people like Louis were frowned upon and generally punished by the general authority around them. To be completely honest, Louis was a tamer version of a lot of the people he was associated with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he laughs like god, and shines like a diamond

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! A series for this verse makes me super excited! Do put in suggestions for future one-shots, and I'll definitely put them into considoration! :)  
> Please kudo, comment, and bookmark if you enjoyed the fic!

Harry wondered why people like Louis were frowned upon and generally punished by the general authority around them. To be completely honest, Louis was a tamer version of a lot of the people he was associated with.

He may have the odds and ends of tattoos that he designed himself, but Harry could tell that they had creative reason to them. Creative like the songs and notes he strummed and sang on the guitar and piano. Creative like the ways he expressed his friendship to Harry. Like with the scraps of his outgrown clothes that he’d make into hair ribbons by hand.

Harry remembers when he was presented with the plaid strip of fabric, clumsily sown together, the tiny threads still poking from where he tied it off. Louis had asked him with the smallest, kindest voice if he could have the honor of tying it into Harry’s chocolate curls. He remembers the pull of Louis’ roughened, tiny hands as they tied it into a loose bow knot. He remembers the afterword, when they lay out in the veranda of Ed Sheeran’s house, which Louis was staying in for the weekend while his mum had taken his sisters off on a trip to the beach .

That was when Louis mentioned Nick Grimshaw in detail for the first time .

“He was the best boyfriend I could have had at the time, really,” He knows Louis said that spring day, sitting next to him on the swing-chair, gazing at the noon-rise. “But really, he was a hell of an abusive guy once you attached to him. He’d actually beat me, sometimes. But you know what, Harry?” he’d say, looking over at Harry, and he would shrug back, not knowing what. “I actually enjoyed it, at first.”

“Nick liked having pain with sex, was all into that BDSM shit, and you know I was his sub. I’m not a good Dom. He’d have the gags, ropes, leather, you name it, and I’ve probably been subjected to it at some point thanks to Grimshaw.”

“Why’d you date him then, Lou?” Harry whispers, leaning into Louis’ side, suddenly more tender, as if he might have scars that were still stinging.

“He introduced me to something that I would have never gotten into if I had found it myself. He got me into deeper types of music, Harold. Punk Rock, Alt, Screamo. He used to be in the band too, actually. Sang leads and did a bit of piano.”

Louis sighs and places his chin on Harry’s shoulder, slipping his hand on the younger boys’ thigh. Harry freezes, he knows Louis’ not after sex, but he still feels a tingle. One he’s never uttered about. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, opening them again as he lets it escape out into the air of the heating outdoors.

“But then Nick wanted to try some other stuff. Like, cutting off body signals and all that. I thought, at first that he only meant like my ankles and wrists, and I was fine. That was normal, the equipment already did enough of that so it was absolutely nothing new to me. One night, everything turned for the worst, though….”

“What happened, Louis?” Harry seems concerned, and the hush tone of his voice clues in on that.

“It was normal at first, you know. Just Nick jacking off to me being tied up to the wall in his basement. I wasn’t allowed to touch myself or find friction, though obviously that’d be almost impossible. Prick just wanted that engrained in my head, though. So that was fine, all normal…” Louis’ trembling now, and he’s never done that before, then again, he’s done a ton of new things around Harry. “But then he said he wanted to try….Choking. Hands around the neck, seeing me struggle. The whole nine yards.”

“Why’d you say yes?”

“Because I loved Nick. Or I thought I did that night. I was being so stupid.” Louis seethes, the hand on Harry’s thigh clenching into a fist, nails almost digging into Harry’s orange leggings. “He put his hands around my neck, and everything got ruthless. No safe words could get me out of this one. I struggled and tried to scream, but none of it was any damn good. I blacked out. I almost died, so I’m told later on the next day.”

“How’d you survive?” Harry’s green eyes are wide as saucers, and his lips are pressed together in worry.

“Nick realized what he was doing, and seeing as he was eighteen , he’d be charged with murder, so he let go and cared for me until I was breathing. Then he took me out of his house and dumped me at Zayn’s doorstep at five in the morning. We broke it off after that and he graduated. Haven’t talked to the son of a bitch since.”

That’s what Harry remembers of that day. The ribbons are almost forgotten because of this. But with every new one he’s given, he appreciates Louis all the more. So he wonders why, when they’re together, they’re called ‘freaks of nature’ or ‘faggots in paradise’. He tries not to think of that subject at hand too hard.

Late at night though, when he’s lying in bed, wrapped up in the duvet, he lets his mind wonder off on to subjects such as those. Those are nights he doesn’t plug in his earbuds and lets them ring with The Kooks or The Lumineers. Those are nights when he doesn’t speak or text Louis, because they are almost literally attached at the hip and he wonders why they aren’t dating.

His mum has told him time and time over after inviting him to dinner that he’d be Harry’s rock, and she can sense it.

 

XxX

It’s April, and Louis has invited Harry out with him and his mates, Liam , Zayn, and Niall. Harry has met them all before, and when they’re together it’s quite the riot. So he knows this will be quite a day.

He’s standing in his room, the low hum of his iPhone playing P!nk keeps him calm as he slips on a pair of dark grey denim jeans on, squeezing them up to his waist and zipping them up. His body’s lithe, almost skeletal, as he peers at himself in the mirror, sleeping still marring his eyes from seeing fully. Harry shrugs it off and grabs the crown he kept around his cat vase the night before. Dandelions, something simple because he was late home last night, and Gemma had picked them for him. He gently places it on his dresser next to his cat’s eye glasses and iPhone, smiling small and he then picks up his Lana Del Rey shirt and unfolds it.

The shirt is basically from the cover of her Born To Die album, and it brings back darker memories for Harry. Back when he had no one but his mum and Gems. Before Louis took real notice of him. Actually, before he took notice of Louis. Lana’s words expressed his life to a point. He worshipped her, put his trust in her crooning voice, and dreamt and thought of her whenever he could, for almost a year.

Harry shakes his head, dismissing the thoughts as he slipped the shirt over his head, and puts the glasses on, phone in pocket and crown on his head.

He trots out of his room, goes to the kitchen where his mum is fixing breakfast for herself and Gemma, she’s already made his which he had consumed some time before. He pecks her on the cheek as a good morning greeting, feeds his cat, and heads out of the door.

The air is cool, and it nips him where he’s uncovered by fabrics, but he shivers and continues on to his car, pulling out his phone as he opens the door to the Chevy. The phone case has angel’s wings on the back that fold out, which Harry finds amusing. Louis gave it to him on his last birthday only months before….

XxX

“Happy Birthday, Dear Harold!” everyone in the tattoo parlor cheers out, the lights coming on as Harry jumps in surprise, eyes wide in amazement. This day, he was wearing an actual jeweled tiara, a sweater with pencil patterns with the sleeves that hang over his large hands, and florescent green jeans with maroon army boots. His hair is curled slightly to the left, which was something he had begun to adapt after meeting Louis, and thus meeting Zayn, who knew his way around hair quiffs.

Louis runs out from the group of teens, gripping Harry into the tightest hug he could muster, nearly lifting the taller of them off of the floor. He’s blooming with an ecstasy unequaled by anyone in room, even Niall, who’s dressed out in a leprechaun costume (per Liam’s request, he thought it’d be hilarious). “Oh Harry Harry Harry, a big happy birthday to my favorite friend!” Louis chirps, brushing his face into Harry’s sweater, bright red hair tickling his neck as it brushed against his pale skin.

“Thank you guys….Wow, this is great!” Harry says, finally taking a look around what was usually the lobby of the shop, instead decorated to the ceiling with streamers, balloons, presents, and the whole shebang. 

“So, you ready to have the best day of your life?” Liam asks, rolling his chair out towards him, a Wii remote in his hand.

Harry knows what this means, Just Dance! “ Definitely!” He cheers, fist in the air as he hops off the ground. Louis has his famous shit-eating grin on his face as he rushes after Harry to the flat-screen, where the menu is set up. He’s really happy it all worked out for Harry, he later tells the younger.

After hours of dancing, playing various other games, drinking sodas (or beer, in Zayn and Louis’ case), and eating alarming amounts of cake and chips, it’s finally time to open presents.

Harry’s glad for every present he receives, and is even overjoyed when Perrie and her friends had chipped in for two tickets to a Bruno Mars’ concert.

Louis is the very last to hand over his delicately wrapped gift to Harry, the wrapping paper made out of newspaper pages, which makes Harry lean forward to it and sniff the box, earning laughs from all. He’s slow in unwrapping it, and almost saves the paper, but decides against it after tearing it the wrong way one too many times. When he removes the last piece of paper, he sees the small pile of CDs, most of them albums he had been unable to find at the local record store himself and too sensitive to buy off of iTunes. But what is under the albums, is what catches his eye fastest. It’s the phone case, exactly perfect for his iPhone 5, and the largest smile in all of the party breaks from his face, dimples showing and eyes almost squeezed shut. He gently places the gifts on the glass table in front of him, and buries his face in his hands, and starts to cry.

“H-Harry? Did I not get you the right things? I could take the damned things back, I swear I didn’t-“ Louis’ cries of disbelief are cut off when Zayn clamps his hand over his mouth, silencing him.

“Harry is fine, Louis. Did you not see the smile he had? He loved your presents, Louis.” Zayn mutters to him, then giving him a prompt pat on the back as Harry composes himself, wiping his eyes from the tears that had developed.

“Louis, you’re absolutely perfect.” Harry croons, almost leaping over to where Louis is sitting across the counter from him, wrapping him in a bear hug, making his way across his presents until he was in the older boy’s lap, legs around his waist.

 

XxX

 

Harry has a half-smile on his face as he parks the car in the lot, peering out into the football field area in search of Louis and the others. None of them were in sight, but he was pretty sure he saw Niall’s Range Rover parked nearer to the fields, so he takes his chances and gets out of his car after grabbing his Coldplay sweatshirt and slipping it on.

It’s foggy out in the football fields, but he makes his way around the edges until he catches sight of three familiar hair colors, all next to each other on a bench, almost blocking out Liam’s sheared head. His pace quickens to a run as he gets over to the bench, where the older boys are all tapping away on their phones, Louis taking a picture of his exhausted, panting face as he runs up and slips easily onto the bench next to Louis, which has been kept warm by Niall’s rear.

“Hey, Lou. Whatcha doing there on your phone?” Harry hums, leaning comfortably into Louis’ side, and he thinks, that they both fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces.

“Check your Instagram, Haz.” Louis replies in a gruff voice, the one that makes Harry shake when he hears it like he just has.

Harry hurriedly takes his phone out, and taps around until his notifications on his Instagram are front and center on his phone screen. And the only thing from Louis he sees was added seconds before, so he taps on the link, and lo and behold, there was the picture, Harry’s face pulled in an unattractive frown as he’s running forward. He notices that it’s hashtagged #runharoldrun, and snorts at the reference to his second favorite movie, Forrest Gump.

“Nice one, Tommo.”

“I know, right? I’m going to be one of those brilliant minds someday, and everyone will believe me when I tell them that making a sequel for the Justin Bieber movie is a horrid idea.” Louis remarks playfully, poking Harry in the side, making him squeal and almost lose the phone in his hand.

“I’m sure we all know that, Louis!” Harry chuckles, right hand grasping with Louis’ left one, and he’s leaning forward laughing.

Louis, however, is frozen, the contact of Harry’s almost inhumanly warm hands in his colder ones gives him a shock of electricity that’s non-existent, but all the more real to the Doncaster boy. He hadn’t had much hand-holding since Nick, when they had their moments of non-rough sex.

He doesn’t mention it a peep to Harry, who’s soon back to puttering around on his phone as the other boys begin a pick-up footie match, they take their time in wait of the couple to come and join them. But he does activate his phone’s camera, and aims it to their latched hands, snapping a picture of them, looking pale against the dark brown wood of the bench.

Louis posts it to Instagram, and this one, he fondly hashtags #boyfriendstagram?

End .

 

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